II — The Divinity of Forgiveness
by Obnoxious Unicorn
Summary: Michael mourns on a mountaintop, and begs for forgiveness for the first time in his long life. It is not to his Father he prays.


**A/N: This will probably not make sense if you haven't read _Dies Irae._ Just saying.**

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 _Michael mourns on a mountaintop, and begs for forgiveness for the first time in his long life. It is not to his Father he prays._

 **II - Divinity of Forgiveness**

Some might say he is depressed. Some might also say he is just a man. They would be wrong on both accounts.

Michael is not depressed. As an angel, he lacks the capability for emotion on such a scale to physically be able to suffer from depression. He is also not a man.

Michael is an archangel of the Lord, he is—

No. No, that isn't quite right.

He sits on a mountaintop, somewhere in the Andes, with his eyes closed. He feels the spin of the Earth beneath him, eight hundred miles per hour, hurtling through space...

Michael doesn't think it's quite right to refer to himself as an archangel of the Lord.

Things in this past hundred years have changed. Little things, unnoticeable to any who are not eternal. Unnoticeable to any but him, who has been running for a century; watching for a century.

The angels have been reclusive. More so than ever. Not even after the death and resurrection of Christ were they this silent. Rarely do they leave Heaven.

Demons hide in the depths of Hell. After the fall of their lord—

 _LuciferMorningstarBrotherLittleBrotherLuciferLucifer_ ** _Lucifer_**

—they fled the Earth. Now they only vacate the Pit to make deals, and those are few and far between.

The Earth spins on. Humans go about their daily lives, never knowing that the Apocalypse has been and gone over one hundred years ago. There are still monsters, there are still hunters — even they only think the story of the Apocalypse in the year 2010 is just that: a story.

Michael breathes deep, pulling the air molecules closer to him in the thin air. He opens his eyes to the violet blue of the sky; cloudless, perfect.

He hasn't prayed in a while. It's been... Oh, a few years now. No answer ever comes. It's on a whim, really, that he raises his head to the heavens, looking past the atmosphere and through to the billions upon billions of stars above, and reaches out to his Father, wherever He may be.

"Where are You? Where are You?" he whispers, searching for something — _anything_ — that will tell him what to do next.

As always, no answer comes.

For the first time, Michael feels anger at his Father. This is new; he has been saddened, disappointed even, at the lack of response, but this anger - this rage - is new. He stands, knee deep in snow, and glares at the stars.

"Where are You?! Where _are_ You?! We have died for You! We have _sinned_ for You! We have devoted our existence wholly and completely to You! Is this all we get in return? Your _absence?!_ Was Lucifer right all along? Did I kill my brother for _nothing_?! Did I?! _Answer me!"_ he rages, and thunder clouds roll into the valleys below him.

As soon as the fury comes, it fades. Michael collapses to his knees, completely drained and soaked through with snow. Below, the thunderstorm fades to soft rain.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry for everything," Michael gasps, head bowed. He is no longer speaking to his Father, but rather to his siblings.

To Anael.

To Castiel.

To Gabriel.

To Lucifer.

To those he led astray who fell at his command.

For the first time, Michael prays to his fallen siblings, wherever they may be.

"I did this… I did this to all of you..."

There is water on his face. Michael raises a hand and wipes at it, confusion overtaking his pain, briefly. Tears. He is crying. Such a human response. A century ago he might have been disgusted with himself.

Remembering the days spent after the Darkness' defeat, spent in the Garden with his siblings, teaching then to fly, teaching them the names of the animals, teaching them of the stars and the planets; Michael quietly begs, "Forgive me."

Warmth fills him.

A hand closes on his shoulder.

Michael is looking into eyes bluer than the violet sky, deeper than the space beyond, older than time itself.

His Father smiles sadly. _"You are forgiven. You always were."_

Michael stares. It's the Prophet. His Father is the Prophet. He… He was there all along. "You…"

The smile fades, and He presses his lips together and casts His eyes downwards.

"You didn't stop it," Michael breathes, betrayed in the worst possible way by the One he truly believed would be with him all along. "You _didn't stop it."_

His Father meets his eyes again, and Michael stands.

 _"You were there all along and you did_ ** _nothing!"_ ** he accuses, and thunderclouds close in once more.

And He rises and just stands there, silent.

Michael glares. "You did _nothing."_

He nods. "I did nothing."

"You _let me kill my brother."_

"I let you kill your brother."

Michael shakes his head. Why? _Why?_ ** _"Why?!"_**

"Because you wanted to."

And it hurts. It cuts deeper than any blow ever could, because it's _true._ Michael averts his eyes, unable to look at Him.

"I did nothing because my time dictating your actions was over. I let you kill Lucifer—" And Michael can't bear the pain in His voice. "—because you _wanted_ to, because you believed it was _right."_

"But it _wasn't!_ It _wasn't!"_

"That isn't for me to decide. Your own conscience is your judge. I am your _Father,_ Mikhael; I am here to love you until you feel loved, to guide you until you no longer need guidance, and to forgive you when you have wronged."

Michael closes his eyes. "I thought I was doing it for you."

"Your pain and anger at my absence turned into hate, which you directed at Samael," He says, and to hear Lucifer's first, true name is almost too much for Michael.

"I just wanted it to end. I thought it would bring you back. I _thought—"_ Michael stops. He is making excuses, and it isn't right. It dishonours his fallen siblings memories.

"You're tired, Michael. I know. I have made mistakes—" Michael looks at Him sharply, because to hear that the Creator, the infallible Lord, the Unmoved Mover, admit that he has made mistakes shakes him to his very core. "—which I regret very much. I want to do right by this world, and every world out there. I can't do it Myself."

Michael frowns.

His Father looks at him pointedly. "Free will, Michael. It's not just an illusion. It's the very reason I couldn't do anything then, and why I can't do anything now."

Yes. Yes, he knows that now. But, "What is there to be done now? The Apocalypse is done. Over. The fate of this planet relies solely on their own expendable resources and the expansion of their sun."

"This isn't the only Earth out there, and you know it."

Michael tilts his head. "You want me to save the others?"

"I want you to do what you think is _right."_

And _He_

 _is_

 _gone._

Michael is left alone on the mountain as the sky begins to turn orange at the horizon.

He flexes his wings.

He knows what he has to do.

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 **A/N: So this is a little side-project, because I feel that Michael is a largely underdeveloped, unexplored character in the show. Even Satan is more developed than Michael. Chief Archangel and he's basically just portrayed as being a massive douche. So this is me, developing. If this isn't what you're looking for with Michael's character then I don't blame you — I'm just playing around really.**

 **It will be a series of one-shots or short stories. Some will take place in the _Supernatural_ world we know, others will be vastly AU, and some will be crossovers, I'll make a list on my bio when I get a few published, because I'll probably do a few time skips too. So I'll list them in chronological order on my bio. I don't know how frequently I'll be posting these mini stories, but there will be a few of them.**

 **Hope you enjoy.**


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